A matter of
Summary: Side B. There is one thing Aya knows for sure. Or: three times Ken saved Aya. OneShot.
Warning: Ken has a monologue (rant) in part II. Beware of language…
Set: Post-Weiss Side B.
Disclaimer: Standards apply.
Dedicated to Hsietari, who wrote the first Weiß fic I ever read. And who, sadly, disappeared, along with her wonderful stories. I wish I could read them again. I know your Ash is different than mine, but I love both.
I.
It's amazing how steady Ken's hand is, Aya thinks.
He holds the weapon with a careless ease, gracefully, even. The way his fingers are curled around the trigger – not many of them, only his right index finger – is somewhat intriguing and Aya can't look away. From where he is standing, he can see the muscles flex in Ken's arms, can almost feel the heat rolling off his partner's body. Ken is a close-combat fighter, his bugnuks forcing him to get closer to his enemies than even Shion – his katana – forces Aya himself while confronting his adversaries. Ken is a person who needs the closeness for the sake of his own sanity. Once, after a night with too little sleep, too much blood and too much alcohol, he confessed he felt like he had to meet their opponents – enemies, targets, victims, it always came down to the same thing – face to face, not from a distance. Omi's darts are no good, he had mumbled, and Yohji's wires – bah! He hadn't given a reason then, but Aya was pretty sure he knew it anyway. This was Ken. Ken, the idealist, Ken, the dreamer. Ken, who still – years after Weiss and months into Side B – believed he had to atone for the people he had killed, no matter whether they were innocent or not. Ken, who did the accounting of the flower shop and trained with Michel and Yuki and tried to coax a reaction out of Free and who annoyed the heck out of Chloe just for the sake of it. And Aya understood him then, still does. It is one of the reasons why they work together so well, he thinks, even though right now he isn't sure what is going on. There is only this quiet voice of acceptance in his head as he watches Ken's long, slender fingers flex around the trigger, telling him that one day it was bound to go down the drain anyway.
"What are you waiting for?"
The voice, polite and utterly cold, belongs to the leader of one of the most infamous and dangerous terrorist cells the United Kingdom has the misfortune of housing. Each single one of the criminals – and there are four of them currently in the room but Aya knows outside, there are many more – carries a gun. Except for the leader, everyone has it drawn. Ken stands in their midst, weapon in his hand, and the lock clicks as he releases it. Again, it hits Aya: the sight of Ken, in the middle of a group of terrorists, is wrong. But even worse is the image of him with a gun in his hand. He cannot remember a time when he didn't see Ken fight with his bugnuks. The image is so fundamentally wrong that Aya wants to lash out and wrench the firearm out of his partner's grasp. Instead, he holds still. It is the only choice he has.
(Not that he could move much even if he wanted to, anyway.)
Ken's hand is steady. Little wonder, Aya thinks. They both have learned to never let their emotions show when on a mission. It's what gets amateurs killed in the first place and they are anything but amateurs. It's almost ironic, Aya thinks, the way Ken's hands are completely calm as he levels the gun at the victim's head. He cannot remember ever having seen him with a firearm before. But then Ken had a life before Aya got to know him, and KB trains his people as well as Persia did.
"Shoot him."
The terrorist boss is used to have his every order obeyed. And Ken obeys, his face an unreadable mask even to Aya, who has spent years with him as his partner. Ken bridges the last few meters between them and puts the gun squarely to Aya's head. Looks down at him, at the blood that mats his hair to his forehead, at his arms bound behind his back by a rope pulled so tight he can't feel his arms anymore, at the empty sheath that suddenly seems so absolutely useless – even worse, worthless – without Shion in it. Perhaps this would be a good time to close his eyes, Aya thinks, and the barrel of the gun is cold against his flushed skin. It's your own fault, Ken's eyes say, and Aya knows he is right. He shouldn't have come in. He should have trusted Ken to be in control of the situation but the shouts and noises that came through their headset had him fear for his partner's life. He had acted on instinct, not on rationality, and it had been stupid, stupid, stupid. This isn't Ken's first undercover mission, not by far. It isn't a matter of trust, either, really, Aya is pretty sure Ken is able to handle anything that comes in his direction. He had snuck into the warehouse (Isn't it always a warehouse?) because he had been worried, nevertheless. From the red and blue bruises Ken's face sports, he hasn't been too wrong about what the sounds had meant. His partner limps slightly, too, and holds his left arm as if it hurts to move it. But he seems alright otherwise. Perhaps would have been, hadn't Aya decided to go in. And here he is. So yeah, definitely, he has no one else to blame than himself.
"Maybe he's a cop," Ken suggests, his voice a growl. Everything in him seems different. He's in his mission so deep Aya only recognizes him because he knows it's Ken.
One of the men laughs. "Ever seen a cop with something like this?"
Idly, he twirls Shion in his left hand, and Aya grits his teeth in order not to say anything stupid. This mission is too important for him to mess it up. This is way beyond him and Ken, even beyond the whole of Side B. Wherever KB has gotten this mission from, it is one of those "fulfill or die" ones, and Aya knows what happen to the kinds of agents like they are who make one wrong decision in the field: they die. So if he has to die in order for Ken to fulfill the mission, it is what is going to happen.
"Shoot him. Now."
The leader's cold voice seems to have dropped another one hundred degrees. Ken shrugs again, seemingly oblivious to the four guns pointed at him. How much of it is act, how much real? What is Ken thinking, right now? There is no doubt in Aya's mind that Ken will do anything to end this mission of theirs successfully. But is he ready to pay the price? The Ken he had gotten to know years before, in Japan, would have hesitated. But this Ken is older, more experienced. Harder, too, like Aya is harder than he was before. Perhaps softer, too, in other aspects, but does it matter now?
"You're the boss."
Aya keeps his gaze fixed on Ken. Swallows. Blinks. Almost misses the look Ken gives him.
Ken pulls the trigger.
The gun misfires.
"Next time," Ken says, to no one in particular, "Give me a loaded gun, at least."
Aya's heart is beating so fast he can feel his blood rush in his ears. Adrenaline sings through his veins as he watches Ken walk over to the guy who is still playing with Shion. The men relax, now that Ken obviously has proven his loyalty, and from behind him Aya hears the click of weapons being secured. The terrorist boss smiles, a smile that would have almost been charismatic hadn't there been the ice in his eyes.
"One can't ever be careful enough these days."
"Don't cut yourself on this one." Ken has crossed the room. From the corners of his eyes, Aya sees him stretch out a hand to stop the guy from fooling around with Shion. "It's pretty sharp… Let me show you something."
Perhaps the guards are weary, or perhaps they do trust Ken now. Their boss is just flipping open his mobile.
"You're done here," he says in Ken's general direction. "O'Leary will take you to the drop-off point. Be ready to come when I call."
Ken's answer is lost to Aya. Everything else is lost in the blind rush of action as Ken moves, almost faster than his brain can process, over to where he is lying bound on the ground. Shion cuts through his bindings cleanly. A second later Ken has dropped into a crouch, the gun one of the guards has pushed in the back of his trousers a few seconds before in his other hand. Two men are down before they even realize what is happening. Trying to ignore the pain in his hands, Aya grabs Shion, ducks and rolls behind a stack of crates and finds himself back to back with Ken.
"You alright?" His partner asks.
Aya nods an affirmative. "Cover me."
"OY!" Ken shouts and jumps up. Immediately, bullets start flying again. Aya keeps his head down and runs. The last guard manages to level his gun at him when he approaches but Aya dodges the bullet. The last thing the man sees in his life is silvery metal and very, very sharp. The terrorist leader, on his way out of the warehouse, suddenly finds himself eye to eye with Ken.
"You're not Shinichi", he spits out. Ken grins.
"Nah," he answers. "Shinichi's dead. He was nice enough to make sure we got his message, and he has one for you, too."
Again, the surreal picture of Ken leveling a gun at someone. Only this time, Aya notes with relief, it isn't him who is being targeted. But Ken seems to take his time, and time is what they not have.
"What are you waiting for?" Aya asks sharply.
"You see?" Ken faces the criminal, shrugging like he has no care in the world. From outside, screams of terror and sounds of explosions indicate at the fact that the others have arrived. "I don't have time for this. Shinichi's message was: Go to hell. "
"But Ken," Michel asked, later, much later that day, his face one mask of reproach. "How could you point a gun at Aya? He's your partner!"
Ken grinned sheepishly, scratching his head with his good hand.
"I knew the gun wasn't loaded."
"How?" Asked Yuki without looking up from his task of bandaging Aya's arm. Kurumi, who was holding a bowl of warm water and several spare bandages, shuddered. She was unable to say anything but at least she was still able to look at them. Months with them hadn't made it easier for her to accept that they went out every night and might not return.
"It was too light," Ken explained. "But it is quite difficult to guess correctly. I'm not a total expert."
"No kidding," Chloe said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "If you hadn't guessed correctly, your partner here would be a spot on the wall, waiting to be cleaned up…"
"Hey!" Ken said, indignantly. "I know what I'm doing!"
"Whatever." Chloe turned to exit the room, unaware to the glowering looks he was receiving. In the door, he turned one last time to face them.
"Do me a favor, Ken?"
"I'm considering saying no," Ken growled.
"Don't ever point a gun at me."
"There are other ways," Ken said under his breath, but Chloe had already left. Aya watched Yuki wrap his wrists in gauze, listened to Ken's grumbling and Michel's cheerful chatter and wondered whether he should even try to think about what might have happened.
II.
Silent.
The house is too silent, and the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong passes Aya in a cold shiver as he carefully draws his katana and glances past the open door.
Which is the first sign that something is off.
They never leave the door open. Never. Michel, Yuki, Free, even Chloe have been taught (and, in Chloe's case, the hard way) that leaving open the door to ops is something that isn't to happen. Ever. Nana has more or less drilled it into their heads until even Ken, who already knew the rule from Weiß, has begged for an end of it. Their mission planner hadn't stopped, though, not until she was a thousand percent sure they had gotten the message perfectly. They have their reasons, after all. Aya doubts anyone who accidentally enters the room would find it normal to see the huge map on the wall, the several computer screens (no Omi, no tech expert, so they need all the equipment they can get. Of course, Nana Mihogiri is well versed regarding computers, but on some days Aya really wishes Omi was there. Then he remembers who he is – and finds he still wants his old friend with them), even a few Wanted-posters. Not on the wall, of course, there is only so much cliche they can stand. But even the air in the room is cool and air-conditioned and utterly devoid of everything that might make it feel more like a place to be comfortable in. The whole room is, especially when empty, subdued and too quiet.
And dark.
Aya moves inside, Shion lifted in a position that allows him both to attack and to defend himself quickly, and tries to force his eyes to get used to the dim light that is provided by the little light floating in through the skylight. Navigating towards the computer screens, past the low table and the sofas, he tries to take in everything.
There is a USB in the drive, blinking softly.
The computer is humming rhythmically, the screen shut off. Damn. In his years with Side B, he has never seen Nana use a USB. SD-Cards, Bluetooth, Blackberries, yes, but no USB stick. Of course someone else could have inserted the USB but he highly doubts that. Not that he needs proof for the fact that someone has broken into their headquarters. Carefully, Aya extends a hand and pulls out the device. The computer gives the usual, indignant chime. Damnit, Aya swears without a sound and whirles around, but no one is in sight. As stealthy as possible he makes his way across the dark room again, keeping the sharp rectangle of light that is the door in his direct line of vision. It isn't necessary. No one attacks him on his way.
Not there, at least, and not then.
But now.
Halfway into the kitchen Aya feels a shiver run down his back. As he spins around, Shion lifted, he only sees the bright, red flash from the corner of his eyes and then something hits his katana with a jarring impact that almost dislocates his arm. Aya staggers back, a mixture of adrenaline, surprise and shock cursing through his veins. Catching himself, he pauses to take in his assailant.
"Who the hell are you?" He demands.
His attacker doesn't answer. He is tall, as tall as Aya himself. But while Aya is tall and wiry, his opponent is tall and bulky to the point of ridiculousness. Only it isn't ridiculous, the way he swings a blood-red, huge axe that smashes half of the door frame when he draws it back to gather momentum for his next strike.
Aya drops to the ground instinctively, then wrenches himself into a roll to put as much distance between him and his attacker as possible. It isn't easy, considering the size of the axe. And the size of the kitchen.
The next blow splits open the tiled kitchen floor, sending shards of ceramic into every direction. Some lodge themselves into his legs as Aya comes to a halt again, one misses his eyes by centimeters. Catapulting himself to his feet, he just has time to wrench up Shion in order to deflect the next blow. This time, the pain radiates through his entire body and into his spine. His back hits the counter.
"Who are you?"
Aya manages to press out between clenched teeth as time passes and the enemy makes no attempt to explain anything. His eyes are red, bloodshot, wide and manic.
With a jolt, Aya recognizes the symptoms of Human Interleukin.
Great. Another Free. How are the odds that this is just another old friend of Michel's and Lord Richard's? If he is, Aya won't do anything good by getting rid of him. If he isn't, he would either let himself get killed or kill him. What did this guy want? Has he been looking for something? Who sent him? And, even worse: who is still (or again) trafficking the drug? Aya looks up just in time to catch his assailant's eyes: they are completely blank. They carry not even the tiniest hint of humanity in them.
Instead, a mouth gapes open in a scream of agony when Shion cuts through leather and cloth and gouges a deep flesh wound into the side of his opponent. It only serves to make him even madder. With an inhuman howl, the drug addict goes after Aya. His strikes aren't of the most coordinated anymore but the strength needed to wield the enormous axe is amazing, nevertheless, and it doesn't seem as if he will get tired soon. Ceramics and wood splinters become dangerous weapons when not regarded carefully. The kitchen is in shambles, fast enough, and Aya is panting hard. His chest feels constricted – he caught a blow with the blunt side of the axe head and it feels like a rib is broken or something – and the splinters and shards he has received have resulted in several cuts. It's bad, really, because he cannot think of a way to finish with this monster before the monster finishes off him. He has no back-up, no extra plan, nothing. In his earpiece is only static, the white noise loud and persistent. How ironic that their own jamming device would stop him from contacting the team.
Aya can remember times when he thought he would die.
It's not like he isn't afraid. He always is, always was. It is a part of his job description, the constant danger, the unspoken question whether they will return. He sees it in Kurumi's eyes, nowadays, the same question that was in Omi's whenever the teenage boy watched them leave. Only Omi knew better than to show it the way Kurumi does. There are some things you better don't get used to, Yohji told him once. He can still hear his voice, when he closes his eyes. That's it, old friend. I'll see you in hell. But it's not over yet and Aya won't die without putting up a fight. Isn't that what they always did, still do? Fight? Kurumi looks at him like she pities him sometimes. She never does that with Ken and the others. Maybe there is something in him that makes people feel kind of uncomfortable around him – his silence, his alertness, the way he sometimes sets himself apart from the group. But it's not as it used to be. Ken can tell stories – and he does, much to Aya's chagrin – and everyone who knew him before and knows him now would be able to tell how much he has changed. What hasn't changed, though, is the way they make their living, Ken and he, and not even Kurumi's brown eyes can change how he feels about this.
A searing pain shoots through him as he rolls to the side and only barely escapes a lethal hit.
Actually, every hit with this axe is lethal. As it is, the blade only buries itself into his side half-way and the pain colors the world blood-red and silvery-white. The rest of the axe goes into the door frame, slides into the ancient, stone-hard wood like a hot knife into butter. What a stupid idea, he thinks, to fight with such a huge weapon in such a small room. Had it been him, he would have forsaken the axe for a more practical weapon, especially on such enclosed space. Then he feels Shion's weight in his hand and knows he never, ever would give up his katana for anything.
Not that the question will be a part of his future if he does not survive this.
Aya wishes for Ken. For his partner. For back-up, for a squad of police officers, for anyone. But mostly for Ken. Then he thinks it would be a waste if both of them were to die here but years of fighting with his partner having his back make him feel like he is naked on his own. However it happened that they learned to complement each other – they do now, and do it perfectly. Were Ken here, he would be constantly swearing while Aya dodges and rolls and slashes at his enemy but Shion hits nothing but shattered surfaces and empty air. While his arms grow heavy, Aya wonders whether he will be able to take this monster down with him, because then, at least, they will know what has happened to him. The door is blocked. Behind him is only the window, and Aya wonders whether he'd be able to escape on that route. But in the enclosed space of what once was a small and rather nice kitchen there is no possibility for him to hold off his opponent for long enough to break the window and escape…
An ear-splitting shattering sound in his back.
Oh the irony. And then…
"AYA! DOWN!"
Aya doesn't wonder, doesn't think, only reacts to the oh-so-familiar voice that suddenly explodes in his ears. It's pure instinct, drilled into him by the many years they have worked together: he drops to the ground, covering his head with his arms. He has only a split second to react and it is what saves him while his opponent halts, irritated by the voice he doesn't know. Whatever Ken jugged at them – it creates one hell of an diversion. Shards and splinters cut his arms and a blast of air rolls over him, the sound of the explosion ringing in his ears. The flash is so bright even with his eyes closed he can see white spots dancing on the inside of his eye lids. After what seems like hours, he lifts his head – now he feels all the pains and wounds of his body – and he sees the man has been knocked backwards by the sheer force of the explosion but is already hauling himself up into a sitting position again, shaking his head like a groggy oxen. For the first time, Aya has the time to take his entire picture in – and what he sees, he does not like very much. The man is tall, blonde and perhaps would have been handsome if not for an ugly scar covering his face from his lips to his brows, across the left cheek. It looks as if it hadn't been stitched but rather cauterized. And still it's not his looks that leave Aya stumbling to stand again, his head pounding, but the fact that the other man, too, is scrabbling for his weapon.
Aya goes for his head.
It's the only thing he can do. He has to kill the man before he gathers his senses and judging from the look on his face there is nothing to collect anymore. This man is a killer machine, just like Free was, like Jack was, and he only has one thing in mind.
He actually gets to grab his weapon but Aya is faster.
Shion severs his head from his neck, in one, clean arc. Blood shoots out of the cut arteries, a high, gruesome fountain of blood, and Aya stands still and watches as the now-headless body lurches sideways and comes to rest against the kitchen counter. Uhrg. He never will be able to work in this kitchen again without seeing the head roll under the table slowly.
The silence is perhaps the most pronounced noise after a fight, and this time is no different.
Aya stands and waits and no other enemy appears and the dead man does not get up again and somehow his ears still are not working properly because the only thing he hears is a deep, persistent ringing. He forces himself to move: wipe Shion, sheath it, drag his hands through his hair. It comes back red with blood and his head hurts but this time there shouldn't be a concussion. He worries more about the slash wound in his side and his broken rib. Adrenaline is subsiding and the usual reaction sets in: his hands begin to tremble. He forces them into fists. Then, the pain comes in waves.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
There he is: Ken. Standing in the door-way, having made his way around through the entrance as fast as possible. Hair tousled and sweaty, his hands fisted, as well. Ken, pale as a ghost and angry as hell.
"Don't you understand the meaning of the word compromised? Hell, Aya, where did you lose your brain? It's fuckin' obvious someone has been here, they set up a trap and you walked into it like some stupid amateur, for Christ's sake, Knight would have done better than that! What were you thinking? And then going in without back-up! What do you have that headset for? You could have been killed! What do you think are partners for, damnit? Just so that I can come and collect your corpse after you've stuck your head into the rabbit's hole too deeply again?"
He has to pause to take a breath, opens his mouth to continue his tirade and closes it again rather abruptly when he sees Aya flinch as his fingers touch his side. Anger, though, is still buzzing through him, almost tangibly. Aya tries to remember the last time Ken had been so angry and is amused to find it had only been eight days ago, when Ken had lectured Yuki and Michel on the importance of staying alert during missions. One of them had blown it but then, they still were children (okay, so maybe not so much anymore, but they still were the youngest of their lot) and the mission had been one of reconnaissance rather than of actually going out and fighting. And yet… It is good to see Ken still is able to get this passionate, especially since Aya feels like he can't work up the energy to be passionate about anything right now.
"I'm alive, thank you," he says through clenched teeth and tries to wind himself out of his long coat. Every movement hurts like hell and his hands are sticky with blood. He more feels than hears Ken close in and then he is helping him, carefully inspecting the wound.
"Yeah, and that's not to your credit," Ken grumbles, his anger already having abated somewhat. He never is able to remain angry for long, Aya knows. Besides, he worried about him and considering the fact that Aya feels very much relieved to still be alive, he is ready to give his partner credit for their survival.
"Next time I have to come and save your ass, at least make sure to tell me where you are, damnit. Or, wait, I'm going to ask Nana to implant a transmitter on you, the kind dogs get. Yeah. Or a GPS tracking device, the kind kids get so they don't get lost. Or maybe an electronic tag…"
Aya ignores him.
And maybe, he smiles.
III.
Her eyes look at him.
He can see her. Her slim hands, her strong face, the little scar on her brow she got somewhere along the road. She's still alive, which shows what an amazing person she is considering the fact that she has the same job they have. Her hair is a soft, dark-golden wave, falls around her face and over her shoulders in a curtain of curls. She is tiny. She barely reaches up to Michel's chin, and Michel is the smallest one of all of them. But Aya can see her fire in the way she holds her head. In the way she fights. In the way she never backs down, never gives up. She is strong, perhaps the strongest person he ever met. He draws his strength from hers, allows himself to be warmed by her fire, and wonders why on earth someone would ever get the idea of naming such a person Ash. On the other hand, maybe it is that what she is: the burning embers underneath the ashes, alive and waiting for the moment when everything blazes up into flames again. Aya has wondered often enough what it is that makes him love her and he has an idea what it might be. But he has no – virtually absolutely no – idea why she loves him.
Her eyes say she does, and it is enough.
Her eyes always do the talking for her. Not that she is shy, but she talks little. She doesn't stand out much, at least that's what Aya knows others think of her. She is one of the people you don't really notice, Ken once said, until they stand right in front of you and suddenly they are there. It's a good description, though not even marginally enough to describe her. And Aya wonders, because when he enters a room, his eyes are immediately drawn to her. How can people not see her? She is a normal person who loves books and dogs and her job in the flower shop, who smiles a lot and only cries when she is alone. But normal, by their standards, is perfectly good, and Ash lights up their days in a different way than Kurumi did. Side B has expanded its tightly knit bonds to include this little persona and whenever Aya catches Yuki and Free smile and Michel laugh, Ken listen quietly and Chloe stop pretending, he knows everything is fine.
Now, her eyes look at him, and nothing else exists except for her.
I know who you are, she told him when he said she didn't know him well enough. I can see it in your eyes. People have told him this before and never before has he actually believed it. Now, as she says it, he knows it is the truth, honest and unshakable. She knows what he does and she accepts it. She waits for him to come back to her. She trusts him enough to put her life into his hands and there is no greater gift he can imagine she could give him. In return, he fights to come back. To protect her, to keep her safe.
Of course it isn't enough. It never is.
And her eyes look at him, only at him, and her body is torn and mangled and beaten. Blood is everywhere. Those Bastards, Ken swears, and Aya can feel anger and fury radiating off his partner's skin. Behind them, Chloe, Free, Michel and Yuki are silent, but the same deep determination rolls off them: They will pay for this. Only it is too late, and some things can never be returned. He does not even notice that Shion slides out of his grip as he gathers her into his arms. She is limp and light, light as a bird, and her frantic heart beat is loud in his ears. Or maybe, it is his own? He holds her carefully, knowing she must be in pain. She is in pain and he hates her torturers with an intensity he never thought he would be able to muster again, not after Aya was safe and his parents' murderers were dead. He hates them with every ounce of his being but he will never be able to hate them more than he hates himself right now: for not being there on time, for having allowed this to happen in the first place. He is a monster, nothing more. How could he ever believe he, of all people, would be allowed to love?
Something touches his head.
Light as a feather, her hand reaches up to touch him and some of the warmth – it is still there, despite everything they have done to her – in her eyes melts the ice that his body has become. Suddenly, he feels the cold, intensely and all-encompassing, as his rage and self-hatred turn to fear. I'll be okay, her lips form, but he sees the blood and the injuries and the pain and cannot allow himself to believe. He just holds her.
"Aya," Ken's voice says, directly next to him. "Nana is here."
And she is, Nana Mihogiri, and he can see the red-and-blue lights flashing outside.
"I'll take care of her," the mission planner says, but Aya refuses to let go.
"Aya," Ken repeats his name, and this time, there is a certain sharpness in his words. "Let's go."
And something in his partner's voice tells Aya that Ken is not suggesting leaving her. Instead, he is telling Aya to move now, to go outside. To hunt. To go catch the bastards who did this, to finish up the business Walter Trellis and his men left unfinished as they dared to lay hand on a member of Side B. Ash smiles at him, through blood and tears, and Ken's hand on his arm is strong and warm and guides him forward. Somehow, Ken's obvious hate and thirst for revenge gives him the strength to carefully lay her down on the stretcher the paramedics (trying very hard not to notice the six men and one woman in dark combat outfits with matching masks) wheel inside. Aya grabs Shion and walks out of the room.
It is easy.
Far too easy. The Side B team falls upon the gang of men like big cats on unsuspecting prey. It isn't a warehouse, not this time. Any other day Aya would have smiled at the irony: It is a greenhouse. But what a greenhouse! Bullet-proof glass covers the long, narrow building all the way from east to west. Enforced with thin strips of a steel so hard working with it must have been hell, the walls still manage to give off an air of openness and vastness. Same with the entrance: a heavy steel door marks the first foyer; the second one seems less intimidating and yet is, due to the technology used to keep it closed to unwanted guests, all the more so. The hothouse itself is a lush paradise of greens, reds and yellows. Banana plants grow next to huge orchids, and cocoa beans flourish next to odd, finger-shaped leaves Aya doesn't bother to identify right now. From the outside the house looks like a peaceful place, full of plants, full of life. Contaminated, Yuki murmurs, and Michel nods and watches his friend watch the building with his binoculars. Can you see Trellis? Yuki shakes his head. Ken drops down next to them, silent as usual. His face is a mask without any emotions but hatred rolls off him in hot waves. Aya wants to go, now, immediately, kill those bastards slowly and agonizingly painful, but he holds back. He knows revenge is best served cold. Besides, he is Side B's team leader and time and experience have taught him how to reign in his own emotions. Anyone who saw him right now might believe he was the way he looked: cool, collected, and utterly calm. And, in a way, it is true.
Ken delivers his report: Sentries. Many sentries. It seems Trellis has called upon every available member of his gang. Even without binoculars Aya can see people move to and fro, keeping in the shadows of the high, crystal walls. The perimeter around the hothouse is widely cleared except for a few other buildings that are clustered together like freezing sparrows in winter. The men try to stay out of sight and yet fail due to their numbers. Now and again they watch short exchanges: words, hastily uttered, quick, shy glances at the surroundings. It seems Trellis has only now realized what his actions might cost him, and his men, while many and no strangers to violence, are no professionals. Not when it comes to what is about to happen: a brutally short, violent fight with six men who never have known anything else than fight. Even Michel, as the youngest one of them, has about twelve years of experience as a member of the Side B team. What sets them apart from Trellis' hired killers is more than just experience, though. They know loss, and pain, loyalty and friendship. Opposite to the men Trellis has gathered, they know what awaits them and neither do they worry nor do they feel afraid. They live together and they fight as one. And then there is his partner. Aya catches Ken throw him a piercing look. His eyes betray him: he can see right through Aya, and both know it. Know the calm surface betrays nothing of the raging storm underneath. Ken, Aya presumes, is hoping he'll hold it together. Only is he not sure he can.
Nana Mihogiri isn't there to coordinate them this time.
There is only a soft absence in the silence and static that is in their earpieces when suddenly a voice picks up. Kurumi. Calm and collected, and they exchange glances, each of them. But they accept it without a word, not only because they have no other choice but rather because they know she won't fail them. Everything changes. People change, too, Aya is the last one to deny this fact. Kurumi hasn't as much changed as she has grown during the past years and in a few months she will be a mission coordinator as good as Nana. There is not much she can do, especially since she lacks the knowledge to hack into the security system Trellis has installed. But Yuki will take care of it as soon as they reach the greenhouse. In case they reach the greenhouse… For a second, doubt flashes through Aya's thoughts only to be banned immediately. They will not fail. Failure is not an option, not now, not when things of such importance are at stake. There are so many hired killers, there is the type of building they never infiltrated before. And something else bothers him: a voice in his mind, tiny, barely loud enough to be heard, but growing with each second he listens. It is broken. She has been hurt, hurt because of him, and there is no way of going back to the point they had reached before this happened. It is broken, their relationship surely is, because he cannot imagine the wounds and pain she experienced wouldn't change anything in her. It is too late, his heart beats, too late, too late, too late, and Shion is so heavy in his hand it grows numb. And then a hand grabs his arm, Ken's hand, hard and painfully tight. Aya, he says, sharp and commanding and yet gently. Let's go. And whatever doubts he had are gone, completely erased by the heat that rolls through his body as his blood starts to boil. They will pay, Ken's eyes say, and every fiber of Aya's body screams the same. They will pay, Chloe's grim smile and Yuki's clenched fists shout. They will pay, Michel's rabbit tail sings. They will pay, Free's cards predict.
They. Will. Pay.
When Aya finally reaches Walter Trellis he is covered in blood. Shion is light in his hand, a lethal, silvery extension of his arm, the leather protector around the handle free of blood where he holds it tight. Side B has eliminated more than three dozen hired killers, in and around the greenhouse, and there is only one person left breathing besides the members of the team. Michel has a cut on his cheek and holds his left arm with his right, his rabbit tail twined around his right arm like a living thing. Free is close behind him, unscathed and a gruesome sight with his mask-like face smeared with blood. Chloe is leaning against a table, cool and collectedly toying with the expensive, oriental flowers sitting there in a vase that must have cost a small fortune, and watches. Yuki has disappeared, having located an underground command center, and is probably hacking his way through Trellis' system. Ken is close to Aya, as well. Once he would have thought it uncomfortably close, but that time is long gone. Somehow, now, the closeness is almost comforting and more than reassuring. Though right now, Aya doesn't allow himself to think about things like that. Right now he concentrates on the man in front of him only.
Walter Trellis is afraid.
To his credit, he neither begs for his life nor does he cry and moan. He is the only one who has no smears of blood on his clothing but he clutches a weapon and points it at Aya. His hands are shaking lightly but his voice is controlled. Little wonder Aya thinks with the small part of his brain that still thinks analytical and logically. Trellis didn't become what he is by backing down whenever a threat was exposed. This man has built up an information technology empire by his own, changing the little computer shop his father had into a global player. He has the charisma to charm the world, the knowledge and brilliance to continue development, the ruthlessness it takes to compete with other great – American and European – companies. He has the money to get what he wants and with it and his other talents he gets what he needs easily. Only now he has found his master in a group of seven men and three women who are determined to trace back all the illnesses his company has sown to the roots of all evil: Walter Trellis himself.
Trellis talks.
Aya hears nothing. He sees the man move his lips and feels words wash over him – the soothing, charming voice that pulls so many people into his ban – and he hears nothing of what Trellis says. The man's lips move faster and he starts to sweat when he realizes Aya does not care about anything he has to say and Aya watches with cold detachedness and a hatred so great he feels like ice as a droplet of sweat runs down his nose. Trellis stops and swallows thickly and still nobody says anything, five men in dark leather-clothes and masks, smeared with blood and worse. Armed and dangerous. The silence is profound. And, for the first time in his life, Aya thinks the silence is dreadful. With every second it lasts, Trellis breathes in another time, prolonging his life for another few precious seconds, and he hasn't got the right to do so. Not after what he did to thousands of kids, young adults and old people. Not after what he did to Ash. The urge to break the silence is so great he takes a step forward and Trellis' hand convulses, clenches around the trigger. He does not shoot, though. There is still defiance in him, arrogance and righteousness and twisted reason, and he knows he won't survive even if he empties the magazine of his gun into their faces.
In Aya's hand, Shion sings in harmony with his blood.
Again, nobody moves. And slowly, finally, Aya sees the dawning revelation in Trellis' eyes as the man realizes what he has brought onto himself. He has tried to mess with one of the most secret, most dangerous underground organizations Great Britain possesses. He has abducted and tortured a member of Kryptonbrand Side B, has made a grab for one of their own and thus has sealed his fate. Because Side B does not take it lightly when one of theirs is hurt and while, with his actions, Trellis has not stopped the investigations Side B was conducting against him, he has given them the one excuse necessary to forego all foreplay and degree of codex they operate by and come directly after him: he has hurt one of them. The realization creeps up slowly and shows first in the increasing tremor in his hand, then in the flickering gaze of his eyes, flitting from Ken to Aya, from Free to Michel to Yuki, from the door behind them and the glass wall behind him. There is no escape. He takes back a step nevertheless, jerks the weapon upwards and yells at them to Freeze, don't move, stop right there you devils and neither one of them moves until Trellis' back hits the wall of the little glass cubicle integrated into the bigger interior of his greenhouse. No one moves except for Aya because from the rigid line of his back and the darkness in his eyes the message is more than clear: He is mine.
Trellis realizes his life has come to the end.
The second he does so – and perhaps minutes have passed since anyone of them moved last or perhaps it has been only seconds – he squeezes the trigger, desperately pumping out one bullet after another. Trained assassins they are, each one of them reacts and they throw themselves out of the way. Trellis should have known it better than to take a shot in a house made of glass: shattering walls and ricocheting bullets create a scene worse than hell could have imagined. Aya feels himself being pushed to the side, shoved to the ground by Ken who wraps both arms around his waist and pulls him down roughly. Why he hasn't moved on his own accord is beyond him but then, maybe Ken simply moved faster. Trellis has six shots, then the only sound they hear is a surprised scream and falling glass and abating thunder as they shield their heads with their arms and wait. Then it is silent, incredibly silent, and Aya knows it is the silence of the eye of a storm. He rolls around and hears glass break under his heavy mantle (he should be thankful for it, it saved him from the worst cuts) and finds his still has Shion gripped tightly. At the same time, Ken and Free are on their feet again, quickly followed by Michel and Chloe. Aya feels adrenaline sing in his veins and turns to locate Trellis, Shion lifted and ready to strike. To kill.
He is on the ground, breathing shallowly.
Trellis' face has taken an unhealthy color of yellow and he whimpers in pain. A ricocheting bullet must have hit him in the abdomen because he holds his stomach and blood seeps through his fingers and onto the carpet. One glance is enough for Aya to see the man won't survive and the only thing he feels is ice. If this is fate's way of repaying for injustice it is the epitome of injustice itself. Aya wanted to kill Trellis, wanted to watch him bleed out from a wound Shion had inflicted. Wanted to watch the man realize he was doomed, wanted to watch him die. Now Trellis is dying – but not by Aya's hands. Not by his hands. Words are not enough to explain the numbness inside him. Trellis was supposed to pay for what he had done to Ash. Now he was dying – but Aya's revenge was incomplete. He wouldn't be able to look at Ash ever again since he hadn't even managed to bring her torturer to justice. Though stomach wounds were dreadful, suddenly Aya couldn't imagine a death more fitting for Trellis than being killed by Shion. His revenge was cold, colder than anything on earth, since it would never be allowed to be fulfilled.
He would have expected Ken to shout and rage, but rather the opposite. His partner is quiet and strangely calm.
He takes Aya outside again, while Free and Chloe check in with Kurumi and Yuki and Michel start sacking Trellis' personal data from his laptop. He looks at him and tells him how to live and where to go: Ash wouldn't want you like this, Aya. She wants you to be there when she wakes up. His eyes continue with the words that remain unspoken: She will wake up. There is still something, anything, they have. Aya cannot say how much is left and how much will remain. But he looks at Ken – who suddenly looks old and worn and sad – and nods and leaves.
Ash is in the hospital.
Kurumi is with her and carefully tiptoes from the room without a word when she sees Aya approach. He has, rather childishly, hoped she would wait with him because it would have stalled every too-detailed question, every too-painful glance. But Ash sleeps and he waits and holds her hand and watches the way her chest rises and falls again and slowly, oh-so-slowly, the numbness and tightness in his chest dissipate. He still feels guilty (and probably always will) and the urge to protect her is even greater than before. Ash is strong, Ken had said, and his partner had displayed all the confidence, all the strength he had in his eyes. Aya wants to believe this. He wants to believe that she loves him for who he is, with all his flaws and his darkness. Wants to believe that she is strong enough to get past this and still love him. And even if she didn't – he wants to believe that she will be fine again, one day, perhaps, in the future – because he doesn't care if he is happy as long as she is.
He falls asleep on her bedside.
When he wakes up again, Ash is wincing at the pain a laugh caused her in her chest, and Ken is grinning widely because his joke made her smile. Guiltily, they both realize he is awake. Ken grins sheepishly and Ash squeezes his hand and Aya tries to blink through exhaustion and relief and dares to hope that maybe, maybe, everything will be fine again.
Someday.
IV.
There is one thing Aya knows.
It might seem trivial and perhaps some people would call him crazy. It is like putting your faith into a paper boat to save you from drowning, or perhaps like hiding behind your own hands, like children do. But to him, it is one of the most important things in his life. One of the two constants he clings to when he goes out there, to fight criminals and terrorists and mafia bosses and corrupt politicians. It is what makes him face each new enemy calmly and coolly, what allows him to kill without breaking apart. He has seen so many people leave. So many people left him – his parents, Aya, Omi, Yohji – and so many people tried to kill him. In return, he killed even more, creatures of the night, devils in form of humans, and he does not feel bad about it. He feels bad for the innocent, the ones involved too deeply to be let live and yet not deep enough to have their hearts tainted. They haunt his dreams, at night, look at him with sadness edged into their faces. But they are dead, and the dead is not what he fears most.
Over the course of the last years, Side B has become his family.
Chloe and Free, Michel and Yuki, Kurumi and Ken and Ash. Florists by day, assassins by night, and isn't it strange how used one gets to the strangeness of the thought? There is little that surprises him nowadays, even less that angers him. Life goes on all around them, while they work and plot and plan. Aya knows what he does – what they do – is not completely legit. They hunt down the dark beasts that cannot be touched by law. All of this is fine and neat but then, if everyone did this, the world would be full of amateur Side B teams and where would that end? It had been enough when there had been two Kryptonbrand teams – one old, one new – at the same time. The confrontation with Jack is still fresh in Aya's mind and he does not wish to repeat it. But if they don't do what they do, who will save all the people who go to bed in the evening without the knowledge of what is going on around them? Who will protect the ones that are too weak to protect themselves?
Aya does not know everything.
He is the first one to admit that. He knows a lot about katanas and flowers and law and food. He knows some bits and pieces of other things, like a normal, average person. He doesn't know much about chemistry, or about swimming, or even about computer games. He doesn't know what comes after death, only suspects there is nothing to gain for him, doesn't know about what it is that holds life together.
But Aya knows one thing.
Aya knows that, when he dies, it will be his time to go. He will die, without regrets, without looking back. Maybe he'll die in the middle of a fight, maybe he'll be killed in a dark alley. It doesn't matter. It will be the end of his search, then.
And Aya knows something else, too: when he dies, there will be nothing, absolutely nothing, Ken could have done to prevent it. He will have tried everything, will have fought for him, will have done everything in his power to stop whatever is approaching. But when Aya dies, Ken won't be able to do anything against it.
Sometimes, the image of the abandoned warehouse flashes though Aya's mind: Ken, holding a gun to his head, looking absolutely calm. Aya didn't die then because Ken knew exactly what he was doing, knew that there was a way. There have been many more of those incidents, fights in which Ken has had his back, in which only his partner's quick reflexes have saved him. Wherever they went, Ken always has done everything to be there and he hasn't failed Aya once. They have always made it out again alive.
No. When Aya dies, Ken won't be able to prevent it. It's not a matter of trust, absolutely not. There is no one Aya trusts like he trusts Ken. So if a situation is bad enough for him to die, Ken will already have done anything – anything – to save him.
And if he fails – well, then Aya is beyond saving.
He won't be the only one, either. If Aya dies, it is most likely that Ken will die as well, and as much as he hates the thought he is somewhat calmed by it. He will be there, waiting for him.
It's not quite a matter of trust.
Aya doesn't trust Ken to have his back. He knows Ken has it.